


Truancy

by risotto



Category: Free!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Free! Kink Meme, Kink Meme, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Prompt Fill, Rimming, Slightly Awkward First Times, bottom makoto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:10:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3427388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risotto/pseuds/risotto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No family, no friends, and no school. It's just Makoto, Kisumi, and the rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truancy

**Author's Note:**

> For kinkmeme prompt: http://iwatobiswimclub.dreamwidth.org/2701.html?thread=3536269#cmt3536269

“Kisumi?”

“Mm?”

Makoto opens his mouth to speak, only to find himself choking back a groan and regretting even saying anything at all.

A gust of chilly wind at his back reminds him they’re outside, and the tiny spray of mist that comes with it suggests it’s going to rain soon. The conditions are far from ideal for what they’re doing, but it’s all they have.

“It’s starting to rain,” Makoto whispers in frail protest.

Kisumi sits up, Makoto’s cock slipping from his mouth with an obscene slurp. His lips, moist and gleaming, bend into a cheeky grin. “Then I guess you better come fast,” he says before dropping his head down and taking him in again.

With nothing to counter that with, Makoto leans his head back till it scrapes the bark of the tree behind them. How they got to this point, he’s not entirely sure, though the more logical part of his brain—the part that’s barely hanging on to reason the more Kisumi sucks him—suggests this shouldn’t come as a surprise. After all, this isn’t the first time they’ve done something like this.

Well, not _quite_ like this. This is the first time Kisumi’s been bold enough to blow him in broad daylight.

It started off innocently enough with a Sunday game of one-on-one basketball in the park near the swim club. Kisumi, far more skilled in the sport than Makoto, had been leading by an embarrassing amount of points half an hour into the game—roughly around the time Makoto asked for a break.

Kisumi had looked him in the eye, smiled at him in that knowing sort of way of his whenever he wants something that only Makoto can give. Then he smoothly led them both away from the basketball court over to some nearby bushes and trees.

 _For shade_ , he supplied, probably to avoid the inevitable question of why they were going so out of the way for just a drink of water. That some gray clouds were rolling in didn’t seem to come to mind. They drank their bottled waters in relative silence until Makoto couldn’t ignore Kisumi’s stare on him. It lingered far too heavily for far too long to be just a passing glance between friends.

Kisumi didn’t even bother hiding the glide of his tongue over his lips, either.

Then Kisumi’s hand—large and strong from playing basketball—fell on Makoto’s thigh and squeezed the firm muscle underneath as it skimmed upwards toward his crotch. He groped him so brazenly that trying to suggest maybe it wasn’t a good idea to do this sort of thing outdoors became the very last thing on Makoto’s mind.

And so here they are. Kisumi’s bent over Makoto’s lap, hallowing his cheeks and working his throat as he bobs his head and gives thorough, loving attention to Makoto’s cock with his mouth.

A loud beep interrupts them. Makoto barely recognizes it as the alarm on Kisumi’s phone.

They pull away from each other with frustrated groans.

“Sorry,” Kisumi mumbles, muting the device and stuffing it into his pocket.

Makoto’s bereft and still hard, but he smiles through his ache and says, “It’s okay. Is everything all right?”

“It’s Hayato. I have to go pick him up and if I’m late…” Kisumi drags his thumb horizontally across his throat.

Knowing full well the wrath of a younger sibling left in waiting, Makoto offers up a sympathetic simper. “Say no more.”

“Mm, but I wanted to finish so bad,” Kisumi whines, nudging his forehead against Makoto’s shoulder in a way that reminds him of Nagisa. Sort of. For starters, Makoto’s never fantasized about Nagisa or ducked away behind some trees for a blowjob with him.

By the time Makoto works up the courage to ask for a little more time, the rain starts coming down, hard.

 

-

 

It’s a full-blown storm when Makoto gets home. With Ren and Ran out of town visiting relatives, and his parents enjoying a rare but much-needed date night out, the Tachibana household is quiet and boring. And lonely.

Just as makes it into his room, his phone vibrates with a chime.

`**Kisumi:**  
Did you make it home okay?`

`**Makoto:**  
Yes, but barely! It’s really coming down!`

`**Kisumi:**  
Darn. I was hoping you got caught in the rain so I can get a snapshot of you in a soaked shirt…  <3`

In spite of himself, Makoto grins. Kisumi’s so bad.

`**Makoto:**  
Maybe next time.`

`**Kisumi:**  
Well it’s gonna rain tomorrow too, you know... ;)`

So _so_ bad.

`**Makoto:**  
I’ll keep that in mind. ;)`

And Makoto does. For the rest of the evening and throughout his dreams, all he can think of is Kisumi, the rain, and highly inappropriate combinations of the two.

 

-

 

When Makoto wakes the following morning, it’s _still_ raining. Haru must’ve been thrilled.

It’s also still unusually quiet in the house. Come to find out, his father left early for work while his mother went to pick up the twins and won’t return until the late afternoon, per her note.

Half awake and ignoring his every urge to stay in, Makoto prepares to face the day like the good, dutiful boy that he is. Out of habit, he checks his phone to find two texts from Kisumi, both marked with a paperclip icon.

`**Kisumi:**  
Here’s to sweet dreams. ^^`

The image attached is one of the tamer things Kisumi’s ever sent him.

It’s a selfie from last night of Kisumi in bed. His hair is damp and he’s pushing back the pink fringe with the fingers of one hand while he making a peace-sign with the other. A duckmouth face tops it all off. Cute, funny, and effortless. Just like Kisumi himself.

Chuckling, Makoto then moves on to the next selfie. Which, as it turns out, is more of what he’s used to from Kisumi. In it, he’s wearing his favorite red plaid button-up, and _only_ that red plaid button-up, and licking his fingers clean of something Makoto can only presume is white cake frosting.

Makoto stares at the curve of Kisumi’s mouth, thinks back to all of the times they fooled around and how Kisumi’s lips always looked puffy and swollen and perfectly pink when they were stretched around his cock. Makoto wonders if the frosting is as sweet as he imagines; wonders if it’ll taste just as good after it’s been swiped over the head of his dick and lapped off by Kisumi’s tongue.

His thoughts drift back to the picture of Kisumi licking his fingers…which leads to thoughts of Kisumi in _just_ his shirt which, somehow, leads to thoughts of Kisumi on his knees and greedily sucking him off.

Hard, Makoto hurriedly closes out of the window and drafts up another text message to someone else.

`**Makoto:**  
Good morning Haru! I’m sorry but I can’t make it to school today. m(_ _)m I think I’m coming down with a cold!`

And that’s that. Makoto knows Haru won’t ever reply or call him demanding details. That sort of indifference is dangerous, because it doesn’t force Makoto to consider the consequences of what he’s about to do next.

He returns to the previous text message. The one from Kisumi.

`**Makoto:**  
Can you come over?`

 

-

 

This isn’t like him.

Playing hooky, lying to Haru, inviting (insanely attractive) boys over to his house when he should be at school…

Attacked by a sudden conscience, Makoto thinks about calling Kisumi to cancel. Then the doorbell rings.

It’s Kisumi, leaning casually against the door frame. He’s in his own school uniform which has been slightly dampened by the rain; his shirt, in particular, clings to him in certain areas and if Makoto looks close enough, he can see right through the fabric.

And he actually thought about going to school today?

“Yo, Makoto,” Kisumi drawls. And waits.

Makoto’s not sure what to do, wondering if he should drag him into a tight hug or play it cool and invite him in like those confident boys seem to do on dramas. He opts to just stand there, his smile as awkward as his posture, his grip tight and sweaty on the door knob. “Hey.”

Luckily, Kisumi doesn’t wait for an invitation—he just wanders on inside, purring a, “sorry for the intrusion,” though there’s nothing sorry in how he grins knowingly or even how he bends over, just _so_ , to remove his shoes in the genkan.

“I brought you a gift, but,” he muses a little, the soft edges of a smirk visible in his profile as he pretends to be more interested in the fish swimming around in their bowl on the nearby sideboard, “you’ll see it later.”

It’s Kisumi’s first time in his house, yet he walks around like he’s already familiar with it, opening and peeking through random doors before traipsing up the staircase ahead of Makoto who follows him like a loyal little puppy without complaint.

When Kisumi makes it to the second floor, Makoto’s mouth goes dry. “Um, Kisumi,” he croaks, “where are we—?”

“We’re sick and staying home from school, right?” Kisumi chirps.

Makoto, feeling the heat rise up his throat, can only nod in reply.

Kisumi winks. “So shouldn’t we both be in bed?”

 

-

 

Outside, the storm continues on in a steady fall. The raindrops pelt against the bedroom window in a quiet, soft tempo. It’s an otherwise relaxing backdrop. Any other day, Makoto could easily fall asleep to it. Today, with Kisumi over, it’s a bit difficult. To say the least.

He’s on his bed with Kisumi, their bodies close—even with the barrier of their clothing in the way. Their lower limbs are in a bit of tangle, long legs entwined around each other; his knee is drawn up awkwardly, half on Kisumi’s thigh and half between it, wiggling around to find purchase. It’s far from uncomfortable for him, but…

Kisumi suddenly comes up for air from their kiss, groans huskily. “Keep doing that, _please_.”

Makoto stops, unsure. But then Kisumi ruts against him without complaint or shame, the mewl-like pitch in his voice shooting pleasure straight into his groin. Makoto then moves again, tries to focus more on widening his open mouth and letting Kisumi lick at his tongue than on the growing stiffness in his— _their_ —underwear.

They’ve been at this for a couple of hours, it feels like, which isn’t much of a stretch on what they normally do by any means. But now, with Kisumi panting hotly against his mouth and grinding down against his knee, Makoto’s thoughts stray and he understands that soon, this won’t be enough.

“Kisumi?”

“Mm? S’matter? Want to do something else?” Kisumi asks around a lazy smile. “Want to sixty-nine?”

As tempting as that sounds, Makoto knows that’s not what Kisumi wants. It’s not what he wants, either. “No, not that,” he admits, shyly. “Something else.”

“Oh?” Kisumi stops moving, long enough to level Makoto with an amused look, his cheeks bright and rosy. He’s never looked so perfect. “Do tell.”

There’s probably a million and one reasons why Makoto shouldn’t tell him anything. He and Kisumi have messed around countless times before with handjobs and blowjobs here and there—maybe they should stick to what they know instead of entertaining ideas Makoto’s had since junior high, when Kisumi put his arm around him and asked him to join the basketball club the same way someone asks for a date.

Yet, he moves and spreads his knees apart, invitingly. “I want to…”

Embarrassment keeps him from saying any further. Luckily, Kisumi catches on quick. “Makoto,” he breathes out. Something flares in his eyes as he leans in to get a better look when Makoto turns his head and tries to hide in his pillow. “Is that…is that what you want?”

Unable to hide and with shameful heat rushing up into his cheeks, Makoto can only nod meekly.

The bed creaks a little in protest to their weight shifting around. Normally, it’s a soft and unimposing sound, but in the quiet of the room it’s practically ear-splitting. Makoto would comment on it or maybe laugh if he wasn’t so distracted by both the feel and sight of Kisumi now straddling him.

Kisumi isn’t heavy. Long and lean and defined in the right ways from his athletics, sure, but nothing Makoto can’t withstand. The weight is a nice, commanding burden on him that he likes. But it’s also intimidating. To the point where Makoto fidgets—well, as much as anyone pinned under someone else can fidget, anyway.

“Ma~koto, you’re shaking like a leaf,” Kisumi chuckles, his voice a tickling warmth against his neck. “We can’t do this if we’re both nervous, you know.”

Makoto blinks. Both? “You mean, you never…?”

Caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Kisumi blushes. “No. Not all the way. You?”

Makoto shakes his head. He never planned for this and always presumed his first time would be with someone far more experienced. Something about going at it with someone he knows who is just as new to it as he is calms him.

A long, quiet moment stretches on between them before Kisumi tests the waters by speaking up first. “Do you still want to?”

“Yes,” Makoto says, shakily, “I do. But, I don’t—I don’t have anything…”

Kisumi slowly climbs off of him. With the weight of a young man no longer pushing him down into the mattress, Makoto should feel relief, except now he can’t even breathe properly. He’s anxious, to the point that the drone of a zipper opening makes him jump a little.

Makoto peers down over the edge of his bed, sees Kisumi rifling through his school bag. “I have condoms and lube,” Kisumi offers with a helpful lilt. Like he’s been planning for this exact moment.

“You do?” Makoto’s unsure if he should be suspicious or impressed. Yamada-san runs the local pharmacy and has known Makoto since he was barely tall enough to see over the counter. Makoto thinks he’d rather die than to buy such things from her.

“A~ctually, I bought these with you in mind,” Kisumi admits with a laugh.

“Me?” Makoto blurts. He’s never bought condoms before, has only learned the basics of their intended purpose through sex education in school. What about them can possibly remind Kisumi of him?

Kisumi procures a small bottle and a black box from within his bag. Freshly sealed and unopened Okamoto brand _Big Boy_ condoms.

Oh. Right. The gift he mentioned earlier.

Kisumi blinks, his nose scrunching up at the shock that’s no doubt stretched across Makoto’s face. “You seem surprised.”

Makoto looks between Kisumi and the box of condoms, incredulously. “It’s because I always thought _you_ would be the one wearing them…”

There’s that flare in Kisumi’s eyes again. The one where something like liquid fire flashes and dies out a moment later, leaving behind a dark, hooded look that makes tension creep up Makoto’s spine. “So you want me to top,” he says slowly, voice low and rich.

 _Well, yeah_ , Makoto almost says. But then Kisumi’s teeth are biting down into one of the foil packets, and he stumbles over his own thoughts and words, blurting, “do you know how?”

Makoto winces and palms his own face, convinced he’s the unsexiest thing on the planet and that he effectively destroyed the mood. Unbothered, Kisumi laughs, pressing a kiss to his cheek to insist otherwise. “Kind of.”

Makoto peers through his fingers. “Kind of?”

“My cousin in Tokyo practically lives in Ni-choume and he got me all these magazines and pamphlets,” Kisumi says, gesturing to a small stack of them in his bag, cheeks nearly the same color as his hair, “and, of course, there’s always the internet…”

“You’re very prepared,” Makoto remarks without thinking, making Kisumi’s blush deepen even more.

“Well, I can’t say I haven’t been looking forward to this since I ran into you that day at the swim club.” As nervous and uncertain as he is, Kisumi still manages to give off his easy, confident air. Makoto envies him for it.

Even with his new laptop and the freedom to pretty much browse through any website he wanted, Makoto never gave in to his teenage sexual curiosity. That isn’t to say it wasn’t there. It just never occurred to him to do it. Now he regrets it.

Kisumi strokes Makoto’s thigh, snapping him out of his reverie. “You okay? You spaced out there.”

“Sorry,” Makoto mumbles, “it’s nothing.”

“Do you really want to do this? We don’t have to—“

Putting his stomach muscles to use, Makoto sits up without warning, their noses bumping together as he angles his mouth over Kisumi’s. The kiss is messy and over with before the pink-haired boy can respond in kind.

Kisumi’s positively _beaming_ when he pulls away to catch his breath. “Okay, then—I’ll be taking that as a yes.”

Kisumi grins and yanks Makoto’s boxers down off his ankles, which has the added effect of pulling Makoto farther down along the length of the bed and making him flail. Embarrassing as it is (and with Kisumi’s giggling not helping matters much), nothing happens and they both remain on the bed physically intact.

“Oops,” Kisumi says with a smile that’s supposed to be apologetic but looks more impish than anything else.

Makoto gives him a half-pout, half-frown for his efforts and Kisumi laughs and kisses his stomach in apology. Forgiving him instantly, Makoto settles back on the bed, his knees drawn up for what’s sure to come.

They’ve tried fingering each other before, meeting with equal parts success and embarrassment, but always finding a pleasurable common ground. It quickly became one of Makoto’s favorite things and Kisumi’s always been more than happy to let him indulge.

Kisumi’s fingers were— _are_ —perfect and just long and firm enough, as if they were made for him. So when a finger slippery with lube nudges slowly into Makoto’s ass, it’s far from uncomfortable.

Then there’s another finger and things change. Makoto never imagined he’d be able to tell the difference between one finger and two spreading him open like this, but now he certainly can, and it’s _wonderful_. Makoto’s always enjoyed the feel of a finger—Kisumi’s or his own—stretching him, perhaps far more than a boy like him probably should, but he can’t hide his craving for it whenever they fool around like this.

Makoto’s hips start to buck in spite of himself, his body contracting around the fingers buried inside of him and eager for more pressure.

“Easy there, Mako-chan,” Kisumi hums against his collarbones and Makoto whimpers, hating how being called _Mako-chan_ when his lover’s knuckles are nudging right up against his balls seems to spread more heat through him than it ever should. “I know _you’re_ ready, but…”

The next few moments all happen in a blur—Makoto vaguely recalls Kisumi taking off his briefs and rolling on a condom after some trouble with the first few, then fiddling with the bottle of lube. Then he’s finally clutching at the backs of Makoto’s knees and spreading them further apart. “Okay—you ready?”

Not knowing what else to do besides breathing in deep in preparation, Makoto nods.

The sound that Makoto makes when Kisumi breaches him is, at best, a grunt and a groan and a gasp all strangled together and stuck in his throat. It sounds completely foreign, nothing at all like him.

Then Kisumi _surges_ the rest of the way into him and Makoto’s body forgets if it’s inhaling or exhaling.

Kisumi groans, doesn’t move, and digs his fingernails into Makoto’s waist like he’s about to pick him up any minute now. “Oh—!”

Is that a good sign? Makoto doesn’t know. They’re two teen boys on their first attempt at leaping across that chasm between virginity and actual sexual intercourse with only their hormones and gay sex pamphlets guiding at least one of them. By all counts, he _shouldn’t_ know anything.

Makoto rolls his hips, experimentally. Instinctually.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Kisumi hisses, suddenly, “Makoto—”

Tensing up with worry, Makoto stops moving and looks fretfully up into Kisumi’s eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s not just okay, this— _wow_ , Makoto,” Kisumi breaks into a little laugh and Makoto feels it thrum through his own body, hot and encompassing, “why didn’t we do this _sooner_? Oh my god…”

There’s a low burn of friction and pressure when Kisumi slowly pulls back and pushes his hips forward again that makes Makoto instantly understand why he was being so generous with the lube in the first place. Kisumi feels thick, as expected, but with this careful, slow rhythm and with the slickness easing him in, it doesn’t hurt too badly. It’s actually kind of good, if not a little _different_.

“Keep going,” Makoto murmurs around a groan. It’s embarrassing to hear the stifled and breathless sound of his own voice; at the same time, he can’t imagine anything else that he wants _more_.

At his request, Kisumi quickens his pace, his thrusts shoving his dick deeper and faster into Makoto; and all Makoto can do is whimper and fumble around in an attempt to give as much as he takes. His body feels beyond his control the more Kisumi fills him up, like he’s being pulled through himself, and his cheeks burn even hotter as he braves a glance at his partner.

As beautiful as Kisumi looks like this, with his face flushed and mouth parted and his slender brows creased and sweaty, he’s also straining, plain as day. He’s about to break. Makoto can hear it in the way Kisumi’s warm breath hitches at his ear, can feel it in the erratic timing of his thrusts...

With a final, whisper of Makoto’s name and a helpless groan of relief, Kisumi stops moving and comes, his hands clawing into any part of Makoto it can hold onto. It’s all over before Makoto can think to do anything, his own erection stiff and aching against his abdomen.

“Hang on,” Kisumi pants. He’s a sweat-drenched, disheveled mess who’s barely able to move, yet he’s propping himself up on one arm as the other reaches down below and grabs hold of Makoto’s cock, stroking it with a weak fist. “I’ll take care of you.”

Heat coils low in Makoto’s gut and he feels a familiar tightness in his balls that tells him how close he is to his peak. Desperate for it, he pushes into it, until his mind goes blank and he’s coming in streaks that spill everywhere, on his stomach, over Kisumi’s knuckles...

Makoto collapses back onto the mattress, unable to remember arching off of it when he came. He waits for Kisumi to follow suite and worries when it doesn’t happen right away. “Are you—”

His mouth forms into a perfect ‘o’ with no sound escaping when Kisumi pulls out of him, relief rushing in so fast, he has to hold his breath.

“Um, Makoto?” Kisumi asks, his voice unusually squeaky.

Maybe it’s his nerves or post-coital hormonal balance acting out of whack, but Makoto swears he can feel one of Kisumi’s fingers prodding his ass. Poking around, not to provoke pleasure, almost like he’s looking for something. “Hah?”

“Don’t move.”

“I’m—I’m trying not to,” Makoto gulps, forcing himself to not sit up and peek down. “What’s going—”

“It fell off.”

Horror floods in. “What.”

“The condom,” Kisumi says, hastily. “When I was pulling out, it…fell off. Hang on, I almost… _there_. Got it.”

There’s a very strange, dribbling wet sensation in a place Makoto never expected there ever would be. And for some reason, that makes Makoto burst into delicious laughter. He doesn’t know why. It’s probably a combination of a lot of things he can’t explain. All he knows is that his mind’s muzzy, he’s laughing, Kisumi’s laughing, and they’re both no longer virgins.

It’s not until a few moments later after Kisumi’s flopped beside him on the bed, his slender body sprawled out over it and partly on Makoto’s body, that reality sinks in for Makoto. There’s a sticky mess on their bodies and on his sheets. His bones feel like water. He can barely breathe without gasping.

He just had sex.

Probably not _amazing_ sex by normal standards, but still sex nonetheless. And he thinks it won’t be bad if he has more.

“That was awful,” Kisumi quips all of a sudden, rolling over onto his back so that Makoto can see him licking the sweat off his smirk. “Let’s do it again.”

 

-

 

The storm rages on for the rest of the day. Kisumi and Makoto spend the entirety of it indoors avoiding the rain, managing some time for video games and even a bath together between several rounds of experimental sex. An attempt to do it in the kitchen while grabbing lunch ended in a mild disaster when Makoto somehow spilled about a liter’s worth of orange juice over their clothes.

Now, they’re on Makoto’s bed, undressed and waiting for laundry to finish as they flip through the Ni-choume guides and this month’s issue of _Zunon Boy_. Kisumi’s admiring the latest Kise Ryouta spread when he gets that certain glint in his eye.

“Kisumi…” Makoto groans, because he knows what it means. After their third and woefully short attempt at intercourse that day, Makoto came to the conclusion that he actually prefers Kisumi’s dick to his fingers; but even so, there’s only so much he can take.

Kisumi has the nerve to look innocent, as if he wasn’t the one that just went through three rounds of pounding into Makoto. “What?”

“I’m still a bit sore…”

“Even after the hot bath?” When Makoto nods, Kisumi’s eyebrows arch, impressed. With what, who can say, he just shrugs and adds, “In that case, I’ll just use my—”

“Um, even your fingers might be too much right now,” Makoto admits, mortified and practically hiding behind his own two hands. Thank goodness they didn’t try something like fisting.

A less mortified Kisumi thinks this through before a second later, he brightens as if struck by a flash of inspiration. “Oh! Then how about…”

And then he easily and quickly rolls Makoto over onto his belly and gets behind him before Makoto himself can figure out what he’s even planning. By then, it’s already too late: Kisumi’s gripping his ass and spreading his cheeks apart.

“Wait, Kisu— _ah_ ,” the rest of Makoto’s protest dies in a dry gasp once he feels Kisumi’s tongue, hot and impossibly wet, first pressing flat against his entrance then slowly working its way up, down, and around it. Thighs trembling, Makoto mewls, the sound muffled by his pillow and barely audible over Kisumi’s incessant sucking and licking.

Pleased, Kisumi hums and licks him with even more gusto, the tip of his tongue prodding into him. And just as Makoto’s about to arch his back and push his hips out even further for more of that sweet slickness, a sharp noise cuts him off.

The doorbell’s ringing.

Makoto responds first, his head and upper body jerking up so fast, it throws Kisumi off balance and damn near off the bed. “Oh my god, I can’t believe it—what time is it?”

As Makoto scrambles around the room, trying to dress and gather up their things, Kisumi remains on the bed, still in his underwear, calm as can be. “Quarter ‘til four,” he says, brows furrowing. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s _wrong_.” Makoto peers under his bed in search of their clothes. “It’s Haru.”

Kisumi’s lips quirk. “Oh? How do you know?”

“Trust me, I know.” Makoto’s voice wavers somewhere between composed and frantic. Then, remembering they had put their clothes in with the laundry, he hurries out of the bedroom and zooms down the hall to the bathroom to fetch them.

The dryer isn’t done, with a little under twenty minutes left in the cycle. But there’s no time for that because the doorbell’s ringing again and if Makoto knows Haru—and _he does_ —then it’s only a matter of time before his best friend will either come in via the backdoor or march home and silently make the next few days a living hell for Makoto.

“Oh, come on, it won’t be so bad.” Of course, Kisumi isn’t so urgent about it. He’s not urgent about anything, seems like. “Maybe he might want to join—”

Makoto throws Kisumi his somewhat-dried, spring-fresh clothes a bit more roughly than expected, killing the idea altogether. “ _No_.”

 

-

 

They’re dressed and downstairs before the third ring. Just as Makoto said, it’s Haru at the door with the missed assignments and homework for the day. If he suspects there’s anything wrong, Haru doesn’t let on, at all. Makoto can’t even tell if he does anyway—his nerves are too on edge for that when he lets him in.

“Oh, how _awful_ , Haru showed up right as I have to leave.” Kisumi’s pouting playfully when he steps out from behind Makoto in the genkan. Despite the light dampness in his shirt and his nearly-undone tie, he looks as kept together as always.

As he normally is with matters involving Kisumi, Haru looks less than interested and like he’d rather be elsewhere. “A pity,” he mutters.

“A travesty, really.” Kisumi laughs with a wave toward them both, and a shrewd smile directed towards Makoto and Makoto only. “Anyway, I better be on my way. Thanks for the remedy, Makoto.”

Aside from a little flustering and cheek-rubbing at the implication of _remedy_ there, Makoto’s fine and able to wave towards Kisumi’s departing figure without further incident, waiting until he’s disappeared around a corner to head back into his home.

Haru’s still there at the door, waiting and leveling a look on Makoto that says it all: he doesn’t buy their act, not even for a second.

Makoto crumbles like a house of cards beneath Haru’s hard and unconvinced stare. “Don’t look at me like that, Haru!”

“Remedy? _Really_?”

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to incorporate most of the prompt into this. Hopefully it worked out. *flies away into the sun*


End file.
